


But With A Whimper

by JTHM_Michi



Series: Of Love and Fairness [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Families of Choice, Family Drama, Gen, Mentions of Panic Attacks, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JTHM_Michi/pseuds/JTHM_Michi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebecca Stilinski learns to deal with the reveal that her father simply isn't the person she grew up thinking he was. And how is it possibly fair that Stiles can have this wonderful life and his father still condemns him as some sort of shady character from a crime drama? The sequel to 'We Meet Again'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But With A Whimper

**Author's Note:**

> So, here it is, the sequel to "We Meet Again". I'm ridiculously happy that I managed to finish it before Teen Wolf S3 started up!

Rebecca doesn’t remember her biological father. She knows things about him of course; that his name was Mark, that he was an accountant for the State Department, and that he died when she was five leaving her mother with lots of debt and a broken heart. She thinks she still had a vague impression of him when she was a little girl, but that’s gone now, whittled down by time and age. She’s never known any other father than John Stilinski – Sheriff of a little town no one’s ever heard of with a big heart and an even bigger laugh. When she thinks of fathers, its him she thinks of – this man that held her when she had a bad dream _(always of burning and growls, of a body atop hers growing colder, of her hair tangled and matted by something sticky)_ , watched cartoons with her on lazy Sunday mornings, taught her how to drive and shoot a gun. She thinks of his Old Spice aftershave mixed with engine oil and gun powder, of a shiny badge, and arms wrapped around her.

That is her father and she loves him. She loves this man that took one look at her first boyfriend and gently reminded him that his daughter was to be treated like a Princess or there would be consequences; this man that made her mother smile, laugh, and make silly faces when singing along with pop songs in the car. How could she do anything but love him, when he’s loved her so much? When he kissed her booboos and smoothed her hair away when she was sick? This is her father and she loves him.

She just wishes sometimes she could trust that he loved her as much as she loved him.

* * *

 

Sasha is asleep, sprawled over Rebecca’s lower half, fingers tangled in the quilt they’re sharing. The television is on, sending soft whitish-blue light out into the living room. The arm of the couch is digging into her back, but she pays it no mind, carding her fingers through her little sister’s hair and tries not to think about anything.

_The baby, Cas she thinks his name is, coos and Stiles turns to give him a kiss. The baby squeals, like Sasha used to when their father would blow raspberries on her belly, and Stiles turns back to her with a smile and continues talking._

She shifts, lifting her sister up into her arms easily as she rises from the couch, back protesting from the weight. Sasha sighs and cuddles closer, not waking up, and Rebecca navigates the familiar path to Sasha’s bedroom. It used to be hers, once, and before it was hers it belonged to Stiles. She remembered that it used to smell like rain and something tangy and sweet when he would let her in and he had all sorts of books piled next to comics and action figures.

Sasha goes easily from her arms to her small bed with Pretty Princess Ninja sheets, barely stirring when Rebecca tucks her in, and leans down to kiss her forehead. Stiles tucked her in once, when she was little and their father (was he still _their_ father and not just _hers?)_ had been called into work and her mother had fallen asleep on the couch downstairs, watching mindless television shows. He put her in his bed, pulled the blankets up to her chin, and told her a bedtime story, even though she hadn’t actually needed one. She just didn’t want to go to bed yet so she made up a story about how she couldn’t sleep without one. He had smiled down at her, smoothed her bangs away from her eyes, and started telling her a story about a little boy who ran with wolves and a little girl who talked to fire.

She stands in that very room, looking down at her sleeping sister, and tries very hard to remember the plot to that bedtime story. She thinks it starts with a lost game and someone crying.

* * *

 

“Becca, dear, come help me make dinner.” Her mother commands, stepping in front of the TV.

“But Mom!” Rebecca whines, not wanting to get up and do much of anything. She’s supposed to be on vacation!

“No buts, young lady.” Her mother says, waving a finger at her, and goes into the kitchen, fully expecting her oldest to follow after her like a lost duck. Rebecca sighs and throws herself off the couch, grumbling as she goes into the kitchen.

There’s vegetables in a bowl next to the sink, waiting to be washed and then cut up no doubt, and an assortment of fruits next to a cutting board on the new island that makes the kitchen look two times smaller than it is. The rice pot is all set up, the little light a mocking red, and the whole room smells like chicken and delicious garlic bread.

She’s cutting fruit into small enough pieces for a fruit salad when her mother clears her throat.

“Your father told me one of your professors was his son.” She says casually, not looking up from the dish she’s preparing. (Something that smells vaguely like potatoes but she’s putting marshmallows on top of it. Rebecca just hopes it’s not one of her “experimental” desserts, she still has nightmares about the horrible explosion of vanilla extract and caramel from her mother’s last experiment.)

“Yeah, Stiles taught my Mythology 101 course. I think I’ve learned more in that class than I did any of my others and had to write like ten papers, but I liked every one of them – he just made it all so fun, you know?” Rebecca says lightly, deliberately acting as if it’s no big deal.

“Rebecca.” Her mother says sharply, as if she accidentally cursed in front of Sasha. She purses her lips, doesn’t say anything, and continues cutting fruit.

Dinner is tense that night.

* * *

 

She’s hunting around the attic, looking for some of her old clothes, when she finds a box labeled “Stiles” in her father’s handwriting. It’s sitting there so innocently, between “Old Family Photos” and “Xmas”, and she looks around guilty even though she’s alone.

It’s small enough that it fits under her bed easily, sliding into place without a sound.

* * *

 

 _Yeah, I’m teaching nxt sem. 2 myth courses 1 philo course & 1 his course. Why?_ Stiles’ text reads and she grabs her laptop, grin stretching her lips.

 _I thought u were a myth prof not a phili and his?_ She texts back instead of an answer. Her University web page loads and ‘Register for classes now open for degree seeking students’ shines up from the top banner across the page.

 _It’s into 2 eastrn philosophy, Prof Asktor is on sabbatical. The his is intro to historical writings, it’s a fun elective for ppl going into mythology. Prof laxly didnt want 2 teach again._ Stiles’ new text reads as Class Search loads on her laptop.

 _Yay 4 ur own classes?_ She offers after a few seconds.

 _:D def! and the 2 myth courses r 100% mine – lesson plans and all! Im a real prof, u have no idea how weird it is. Now why do u want 2 no?_ Stiles texts and she types in “Professor Hale” into the “search for classes by professor” box and hits enter.

 _Rebecca, ur not doing what I think u r right? I dont thnk ur dad would b happy w u in anymore of my classes._ The next text reads and she bites her lip because he’s right, she knows he is.

But Intro to Historical Writings has seven open seats; Intro to Eastern Philosophy has ten seats open, and a mythology course called Shapeshifters – Moon or Sun only has two seats left. And...

She liked Intro to Mythology. It was her favorite course, she liked it far more than her ENG 200 course and certainly more than her assortment of general education classes she’d had to take. She’s already signed up for another science class and another English class – British Classics – and she needs two electives to get a full 15 credits. And since they’re electives, they can be anything she wants. She’s perfectly on track.

She clicks the boxes next to the Shapeshifters class and the Eastern Philosophy class and hits “enroll”.

_I’m in uni he cant dictate what classes I take. Whats he gona do ground me?_

* * *

 

“Picked your classes yet?” Her mother asks at dinner a few nights later. Rebecca swallows the beans in her mouth, grunting an affirmative. “That’s good – anything interesting? You on track for your degree?” She continues, cutting into the lamb on her plate.

“Yeah, my last science class, an English class that looks promising and two electives. Just like my academic advisor told me to do – I have a neat little chart and everything, remember?” Rebecca says with an edge of bitter sarcasm. For heaven’s sake, how patronizing does her mother have to be? Is she on track for her degree? Of course she is; she has a fucking chart with all the classes she has to take for the next two years! She can follow a chart, thank you very much.

“Becca, watch your tone.” Her father says gruffly.

“What two electives?” Her mother asks, looking up from her food to smile at Rebecca. It was that fake smile she used on Sasha’s teachers when they said things like ‘Sasha is a lovely girl but needs to concentrate more. Perhaps she needs medication?’ as if they were qualified to make those kinds of calls.

“A philosophy class and another literature class.” She says, shoving more food into her mouth. It’s not really a lie; she just figures that there isn’t a reason to be more specific.

“I’m done, can I go watch TV?” Sasha says, leaning forward to give their dad a pleading look. He smiles at her and she scrambles out of her chair, grabbing her plate, and taking it into the kitchen.

Her father wipes his mouth off with a napkin and Rebecca quickly stands up, hoping to get out of the room before –

“Becca, we need to talk.” Her father says firmly and Rebecca groans as she sinks back into her chair.

“We’re going to have this out, especially since you insist on acting like a child about everything and are giving us the silent treatment.” Her mother says, leveling her with a disappointed look that has Rebecca bristling.

“Becca, honey, we just want what’s best for you and Sasha.” Her father says. “And I don’t want you around that man, he hasn’t changed any and he’s dangerous. I know he might seem harmless but Stiles is many things, and harmless is not one of them.” Her father continues quietly.

“You can’t seriously be holding what happened when I was seven against him. He was seventeen, c’mon he’s a grown up now.” She says, looking at him incredulously. “He was just a kid and he made mistakes, but he’s not like that anymore.”

“Becca, people died. People got hurt, _you_ got hurt.” Her mother says sharply.

“So did he! He was in the hospital longer than I was, Christ don’t you even remember that?!” Rebecca demands in a hiss, not wanting to raise her voice and attract Sasha’s attention.

“Becca, you were young and you didn’t understand what was going on. But a lot of people died under suspicious circumstances, even before that night, and the only thing they all had in common was Stiles and Hale. The best that we could ever come up with was that Hale got Stiles and a few other kids from his class into gangs. A rival gang came into town, following Hale, and people got killed in the crossfire. You were used as bait for Stiles that night and in turn Stiles was used as bait for Hale. I couldn’t have that around you or your mom, so I gave him a choice: His family or Hale. And he chose Hale. Becca, I don’t know what he told you, but I am not the bad guy here.” Her father said. Her mother reached across the table to hold Rebecca’s hand.

“Sweetie, don’t you remember how horrible it was after that? All the nightmares, the medications, the panic attacks, the bedwetting? All of that was his fault, he put you in so much danger you were almost diagnosed with PTSD afterwards. It’s not just about a few mistakes a teenager made; this was bad stuff – organized crime, murder stuff. And maybe once he was a victim – heaven knows what a twenty-four year old man like Hale would have wanted with a seventeen year old boy – but he never changed. Never gave us – his father – a chance to help him. You can’t help people that don’t want it.” Her mother said softly, running her thumb across the back of her hand.

Rebecca wants to slap her across the face because how dare she bring up the horrible time that was her recovery from that night and throw that in her face? How dare she try to use those horrible memories as a reason to condemn Stiles? She rips her hand away from her mother, disgusted.

“You make it sound like he was some kind of serial killer or mob boss. This is Beacon Hills, not a New York based cop drama.” She spits out, standing abruptly.

“Young lady, you sit down, we are not done.” Her father says sternly, an undercurrent of threat in his voice. She sneers at him.

“Or what, you’ll throw me out too? No, I’m done with this. Maybe he fucked up as a kid, but he’s a grown ass adult with a Ph.D. and he teaches at my University. He got married and had a pretty okay life without you two in it, so enough. Just…I’m done.” She says loudly, leaving the room and not listening when her parents call after her.

She locks her bedroom door and thinks about maybe moving her dresser in front of the door. If they can’t get in, they can’t kick her out can they? Fuck, why did she say that, she’s 19 of course they can legally kick her out of the house.

She doesn’t have enough money to live on her own; she’d have to drop out of college. She doesn’t really have anywhere to go, most of her friends wouldn’t be able to put her up, not without rent, and she has no job history so goodbye getting a job. She’s going to be homeless because she couldn’t keep her fucking mouth shut.

The world is spinning and she can’t breathe. She’ll never be able to see her parents or Sasha again, they’ll make sure she can’t see Sasha after this, just like they made sure Stiles never knew about her. She can’t breathe. Her hands are trembling as they grope around her bed for her phone. She needs to call someone, she can’t breathe and she’s going to be homeless, she can’t go to the hospital, she can’t pay for that.

She can’t breathe.

The screen of her phone is shaking and dark and something is gasping and she thinks she can feel weight on her chest, a steady growing weight crushing her. Like that night when Stiles was getting colder and colder atop her and her hair was matted down by something warm and sticky and bullets were flying and there was fire nearby. They never did tell her what was on fire.

There’s a roaring in her ears, like that horrible night, and she’s gasping for air because she can’t breathe. She…She’s having a panic attack, that’s what this is. She…There are things she has to do, tricks to get her breathing. She remembers.

Inhale.

One

Two

Three. Exhale.

Tricks are important, they get her air. She just needs to calm down and remember her tricks. She can feel the door at her back, the floor under her, and she thinks of a room with no windows and no doors. A room with nothing but blue, because blue was calming.

Inhale

One

Two

Three. Exhale.

The door is locked and she’s against it and they can’t get her. When she has enough air, she’ll move the dresser so they can’t get in and wait until dad calms down. It’ll be fine, she just has to breathe. She has tricks, she’ll be fine.

She’ll be fine.

* * *

 

Her parents don’t bring Stiles up again. Her father goes into work more than she’s used to after that – leaving after breakfast and coming back around 11 o’clock, long after Sasha has been put to bed. He’s only home on weekends for the last month of her summer vacation and it’s the most she can remember him working. She knows that he used to work a lot before he and mom got married, has vague memories of being alone with her mother and Stiles for hours before he came home, but she’s not used to him working this much.

Her mother interacts with Sasha more often, almost to make up for it. They play games and do crafts and bake and Rebecca feels a little guilty for being the reason their father is so busy suddenly. But only a little – the majority of her is just angry that he has to hide from his family by drowning himself in work.

She’s packing up things she’ll need for next semester when she reaches under her bed for a runaway tube of mascara and touches the box she placed there earlier that summer.  She had honestly forgotten about it. It comes out easily, sliding silently across the floor and sits innocently in front of her.

It really is a small box, like the ones in her father’s study that contain tax forms and bills and other boring, complicated adult stuff. The lid isn’t taped down, sits snugly closed without any adhesive needed, and she wonders where the rest of his stuff went. This can’t be everything from his old room; she imagines the books alone would take up at least five of these little boxes.

The lid comes off easily and inside is a strange assortment of papers and photos and she thinks she sees a trophy in there too. There’s a stuffed wolf of all things in the box too and Rebecca quickly dumps the box out before she loses her nerve.

The stuffed animal is fluffy and black. Its eyes are little red beaded things and the thing looks cute – little doggie smile and expressive eyebrows. Its front left paw has the words ‘Squeeze me’ written on it and when she squeezes it wheezes out a soft, garbled ‘awooo’. She sets it on top of her clothes, wondering if Stiles even remembers this thing. Maybe his youngest boy would like it?

The trophy is for a spelling bee from when Stiles was in grade school and some of the papers are old report cards showing a truly impressive academic career - her report cards certainly never had as many A’s and B’s in it. (granted hers usually never had as many “doesn’t pay attention” and “doesn’t interact well with others” notes on them either, but to each their own.)  The report cards stop at Stiles’ sophomore year in high school and she stares at the last one and wonders who collected the cards during his Junior and Senior years. Did anyone even bother?

The inside of the box smells like oranges and cinnamon faintly, an echo of some past event she doesn’t know about. There are more papers inside the box, an essay on the portrayal of wolves in media (its ten pages long, single spaced, and she wonders what class it could possibly have been for), a half finished lab report, and drawings of buildings and roads on lined paper. There’s even some algebra homework, more than half completed, and what looks like scores for something or another in the box.

And under the papers are a few pictures - Stiles with a blonde girl in a leather jacket and a seriously short skirt with wicked lipstick; Stiles with two boys - one with curly hair and the other with dark brown hair - in lacrosse jerseys; Stiles eating dinner at what looks like burger king across from a pretty redheaded girl; and a final picture of a little boy smiling and a woman with long chestnut hair holding him. The little boy looks enough like Elessar for her to make the connection that its Stiles she’s looking at, which means the woman holding him must be his mother.

She looks nothing like her own mother, which makes Rebecca feel strangely happy. This woman has a wide smile and her hair looks tangled and slightly bushy - nothing at all like her own mother, with her shy smiles and smooth, short hair. The woman in the picture has mud on her blouse and is wearing shorts and Rebecca can’t imagine her mother ever getting mud on her clothes, much less letting someone take a picture of her dirty. Stiles is perched on her hip, one front tooth missing, and his nose has a smear of dirt on it.

They look ridiculously happy.

* * *

 

Her last science course is kicking her ass and she just wants it to be over, holy lord. She understands the importance of having science knowledge and all of that, she does, but she really hates it. The two textbooks - count them TWO - cost her a fortune and she’s going to sell them back to the University bookstore the second she’s done with them. She’s ridiculously happy that class only meets once a week; she doesn’t even care that it’s in the middle of the week and lasts from 6 am to 8:30 am.

“Hey, Bec, can I borrow your phone real quick? I need to call mine - I swear its in this room somewhere.” Alex asks, breaking her out of the hate-study-haze she had fallen into while doing her science homework.

“Yeah, sure.” She says, tossing her phone over. A minute later, the sound of a phone vibrating sounded from a pile of Alex’s dirty laundry.

“AHA!” Alex exclaimed, diving for the pile. Rebecca rolled her eyes and went back to her studying.

“Hey, is there any particular reason you have Professor Hale’s phone number in here? Because he’s cute but last I heard he was married?” Alex asks, tossing her phone back.

“He’s my older brother.” She responds, going over her notes and not really paying attention.

“Holy crap, what? You never told me that! Oh my god, Bec, I thought you liked me!” Alex whines. “I told you my idol was Dr. Martin, didn’t I? Why would you keep this information from me?” Alex continues and Rebecca can practically hear the puppy-dog eyes.

“Wait, what? What’s that got to do with anything?” Rebecca asks, looking up from her notes.

“Oh my god, you’re so hopeless. Dr. Lydia Martin, mathematical genius, designed a revolutionary new way to grid-search for lost people - notably children? She designed a formula that would give search and rescue teams a better way of breaking down large areas of land, based on background information and even state of mind! It’s notably good for searching for children and injured people. She won a Fields Medal two years ago for it!” Alex explained eagerly.

“And this has to do with Stiles...how?” Rebecca asked.

“I still can’t believe he’s your older brother, I didn’t even know you had one. Anyway, Dr. Martin is married to a lawyer - he works in family affairs - when they married he took her name. He had a court date the day of the awarding ceremony so Dr. Martin took a friend as her plus one - one Stiles Hale. And you are related to him and he knows her so you need to get me in.” Alex said.

“No.” Rebecca said simply and turned back to her notes.

“Oh, c’mon!” Alex whines.

* * *

 

She meets Lydia Martin herself over dinner at Stiles’ one night. Elessar and Castiel were playing on the living room floor and Stiles was looking over an essay for her when the front door opened. Stiles’ husband Derek barely even looked up from where he was playing with the boys as a frankly stunning red-headed woman flopped onto the couch next to Stiles and snuggled into his side.

The woman was decked out in silver bracelets and a lovely necklace that complimented the short dress she was wearing. She was practically oozing grace and poise and Rebecca realized that this woman was that pretty redheaded girl grown up from one of the pictures currently in her bag.

“Hello, I’m Lydia; you must be Rebecca. Technically, this is the second time we’ve met, but you were so young the first time it’s understandable if you don't remember the first meeting.” Lydia said, her voice light and cheery.

“Hi, uhm, yeah I don't really remember you, sorry.” Rebecca replied, reaching out to shake Lydia’s hand.

“Well, that’s perfectly alright. You mostly clung to Stiles’ leg while he and I talked. You were the shyest little girl I’d ever met.” Lydia said with a smile. “I was a few rooms down the hall from you, when they brought us to the hospital that night. You were the last of us to leave.” she continued nonchalantly.

“You were there that night?” Rebecca asked, a little mystified.

“Yes, don’t you remember?” Lydia said, leaning forward and cupping her chin in her hand.

“Lydia, let’s talk about something else. Little ears and all.” Stiles said, waving a hand towards his children. Elessar jumped on his father, not paying them the least bit of attention, and Derek cried out for mercy as he went down. Castiel clapped excitedly and squealed.

“Yes, yes, I see your point. Anyway, Rebecca, how’ve you been? Enjoying school?” Lydia asked, changing the topic effortlessly.

“Oh, yeah, it’s awesome. I like all my classes, especially the ones I have with Stiles. He’s a great teacher.” Rebecca said enthusiastically. She chattered on about her classes and Lydia listened with a small smile on her face and a gleam in her eyes. Rebecca couldn’t help but think she was being assessed or perhaps tested - and she didn’t know what she was being measured against.

Eventually though, her chatter tapered off and Lydia turned to ask Stiles something while Rebecca got off the couch to play with the boys a little. She took lots of pictures of the kids and Derek - Derek making silly faces at Castiel; Elessar climbing on Derek a crown teetering on his head; Elessar waving a toy batmobile around Castiel’s head; and any other moment she could capture quick enough with her phone.

She’s playing patty-cake with Castiel when Elessar jumps onto the couch to tackle-hug Lydia and her bag tumbles to the ground, photos and stuffed wolf tumbling out along with her homework, i-pad, and binder.

“Elessar, be careful!” Stiles scolds. “Furniture is not for jumping on and neither are people. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Stiles continues. Rebecca has just managed to get all her notes from Chem 103 back in the proper order when she sees Lydia pick up a photo and knows that the jig is up.

“Stiles, why don’t you put Cas and Elessar to bed, it’s about that time.” Lydia says, voice hard with an edge of forced cheer, no doubt for the sake of the kids. Derek grabs Castiel and heads towards where Rebecca knows the baby’s room is while Elessar whines about bedtime as Stiles leads him away.

Rebecca gathers the rest of the photos and rights her bag, standing up to face Lydia when she’s done. Lydia doesn’t look friendly anymore and Rebecca can feel her knees shaking. Lydia holds a hand out, mouth pressed into a firm line, and Rebecca hands her the rest of the photos without a word; she clutches the stuffed wolf against her chest and tries to slow her frantically beating heart.

"Why don't you and I wait for the boys in the kitchen." Lydia says, waving Rebecca in front of her.

Derek and Stiles come into the kitchen together, presenting a united front that reminds Rebecca of her parents. They do the same thing when trying to talk to her about her future or give her bad news. 

"Do you want another coke, Rebecca, or perhaps something stronger?" Stiles asks, sounding tired. She shakes her head, not trusting her voice just yet. She places the stuffed wolf on the table and Stiles sets down a glass of wine for himself before collapsing into a chair.

"I found these in a box with your name on it. Most of the stuff was junk - old report cards, half-finished homework, but the photos...they're surveillance, aren't they?" Rebecca asks quietly. Stiles picks up the photo of him talking to the blond girl with the miniskirt as he answers.

“We figured that he was watching us even after, but I never thought…God, he would have had to get the entire department involved in this.” He says, passing the photo over to Derek.

“I’m more interested in why you have these.” Lydia says sharply, leveling her with a suspicious look.

“I just found a box in the attic with Stiles’ name on it. I always thought his stuff got sold or tossed out, but I guess Dad had packed his room up. I don’t know what I expected to find, but a bunch of surveillance photos, a stuffed wolf, and old trophies weren’t it.” Rebecca said, twisting her fingers nervously on her lap.

“I snuck back in.” Stiles says quietly, picking the wolf up. He presses down on its paw and the garbled ‘Awoooo’ made him smile. “I had to sneak back into my own house when Dad was at work. I skipped school to do it; Scott, Derek, and I managed to stuff all the things I wanted from that room into my beat up old Jeep. You probably don’t remember, but I had stacks of CD’s and posters on the walls – I left those there.” Stiles continued.

Rebecca thought back to her childhood memories of what her room had looked like when it was still Stiles’. She remembered books everywhere – on the bookshelf, on the desk, under the laptop, on the dresser, even the floor. She had never seen so many books in a person’s bedroom before. She remembered the curtains, deep red and light over cheap blinds; the sun rose on the other side of the house so there wasn’t any need for heavy curtains.

When she was moved into that room, it had been stripped bare. No posters on the walls, no curtains, an empty desk and a different bookshelf. The walls had even been a different color. She had been so excited to get moved to the bigger room she didn’t even stop to consider where Stiles’ things had gone nor had she really cared.

Stiles is looking over the photos when she comes back to herself, a sad and resigned look on his face that makes Rebecca’s chest clench.

“I remember her.” Rebecca blurts out finally, pointing at a photo near Stiles’ hand. In it, a petite, simply dressed brunette and Stiles are talking in what looks like a club, leaning close together and the girl’s brow was furrowed. “She followed us home one day and helped us make brownies.” Rebecca continues inanely.

“That’s Allison; I’m surprised you remember her at all, considering you only interacted with her that one afternoon.” Stiles says, continuing to look at the photos. Rebecca bites her lip, trying think of something to say.

“These were all taken shortly after he kicked you out.” Lydia observed, spreading the photos out across the tabletop. “No photos of the old house after the renovation, of your graduation, your birthday celebration, nothing. Just you and a few of us talking, a few photos of Derek talking with one of us, and one of you and Chris. This is…This is pathetic.” Lydia continued, voice biting and harsh. Stiles didn’t say anything.

Derek ended up driving Rebecca back to the dorms that night.

* * *

 

Spring break came only a few weeks later and it was a mixed blessing. One the one hand, Rebecca got to go back home and not have to endure increasingly strained and awkward meet-ups with Stiles; but on the other hand going home meant seeing her dad again. And she’d never been as angry with him as she was that vacation. It seemed like everything he did just grated on her and it was all she could do to not snap at him.

The more she thought back to that night in Stiles’ kitchen the more she understood what Lydia had meant when the woman said it was “pathetic”. Her father _(And he was just hers, she had come to that realization finally and it hurt her so)_ had cut Stiles out of their life and then immediately began treating him as a common criminal – keeping tags on his movements, his friends, his “associates”. He concentrated on the bad he saw, or thought he saw, and ignored all the good – like the fact that Stiles was still going to school and somehow managed to graduate with the second highest GPA despite having been kicked out of the house. Lydia mentioned a birthday celebration, which would have been a real easy thing to get pictures of and say it was to keep track of what Stiles was doing, but there were no photos of any such event that Rebecca saw. It upset her.

“Becca, honey, come help with dinner.” Her mother said, swinging her bedroom door open without so much as a courtesy knock.

Dinner tonight was chicken, vegetable soup, and a rice-a-roni side dish that Rebecca had to cook because Sasha was still too young to be trusted with the stove, never mind that she had a birthday and is now ten years old. Rebecca isn’t about to let Sasha cook by herself, but she should be able to handle rice-a-roni while their mother is three feet away.

Her dish is the last one ready, so when she scoops it all out onto the serving dish, the table is set and dinner commences. Sasha talks a mile a minute about an assortment of things – her favorite show, her best friend, how much she wants a dog, and the a billion other things Rebecca is only half listening to.

“You’re just like your brother.” Her mouth says without her permission, tone fond, mind already imagining Stiles talking in one of her classes, sounding remarkably like Sasha – just with bigger words and a little more fluency between thoughts.

“Rebecca Ann!” Her mother hisses at her.

“Brother?” Sasha asks, confused.

“Sasha, go upstairs.” Their father says sternly and Rebecca sees red. Sasha doesn’t even know, of course not, how could she? _She doesn’t even know_.

“What’s the matter, don’t want to try to explain about how you abandoned one of your kids?” Rebecca snarls out before turning to Sasha who hasn’t left the table yet. “Sasha, you and I have an older brother. He’s a professor at my University; he’ll be twenty-nine soon. He’s your half-brother, his mom was daddy’s first wife.” Rebecca says.

“Rebecca Ann Stilinski, that is enough!” Her father roars, slamming his hand down on the table. Her mother gets up and herds Sasha out of the room and Rebecca turns to her father, near shaking with rage.

“She doesn’t even know! How could you not tell her?! She has the right to know about him!” Rebecca screams at him, for once not caring about the consequences.

“I will not have his actions endangering this family! Or yours, Rebecca! Stiles made his choices and I had to do what was best for this family! You don’t have the right to take the decision to tell her about Stiles from us, her parents, on a whim!” Her father yelled at her. By the end of it, he was breathing hard and clearly trying to control his temper.

“It wasn’t a whim. You were never going to tell her, just like you never bothered to even try and let him know about her. He wasn’t even important enough to you to try and tell him that you had another child with mom. What were you going to do, hope she never ran into anyone that remembered Stiles’ existence?” Rebecca asked, seething still but it was a colder anger, s harder one. She didn’t want to scream at him, she wanted to _hurt_ him, to hurt him the way he hurt Stiles.

“I know it might come as a shock to you, Becca, but I’m not the bad guy here. What you did was the epitome of selfish and I once expected better from you, but I know how convincing and manipulative Stiles can be. I thought you had been acting strange this break, so I called your University and found out that you’re enrolled in two of his classes. After I made it clear that you weren’t to have any contact with that man, you went behind my back and did it anyway. Of course you did, he put some idea in your head where he’s just the victim of a monster and you took it hook, line, and sinker.” Her father said, sitting down.

“Are you listening to yourself?! Seriously, can you hear yourself? ‘Put some idea in my head’? WHAT IDEA? The idea that when he was seventeen you kicked him out of the house with only the clothes on his back and no idea where he was going to sleep? The idea that you then stalked and took pictures of him and his friends in the hopes of catching some nefarious deed being done?! The idea that once you kicked him out, you never cared to check up on him afterwards, didn’t have someone take pictures of his lacrosse games or graduation?” Rebecca asked, taking a sick kind of pleasure in herself when her father winced at some of her accusations.

“Rebecca, you think you know him, but you really don’t. He’s not a good person, Becca, he’s dangerous.” Her father said. He took a drink of his water before continuing. “You’ll understand when you have kids of your own, when someone’s well-being and protection depends on you. When you grow up, you’ll understand that things aren’t as black and white as you want them to be. I can’t control what you do – ”

“I’ll understand when I have kids? That’s what you’re going with? Well you know what, Stiles still doesn’t understand why or how you could do what you did to him and _he’s a parent!_ " She shouted at him. She could see her father’s eyes widen and she felt a thrill of glee at the sight. “THAT’S RIGHT! He’s a parent! He and Derek have two sons! A seven year old and a baby and they’re happy! They have a nice house, Derek works at an architecture firm, and one of their best friends is a lawyer who’s married to one of the top mathematicians in the world! Stiles has a life, a good life, and he doesn’t need you in it! He is a good person, a good father, and he has a husband who loves him and supported him through one of the hardest times of his life! _He’s happy!_ "'  She screams at him, tears running down her cheeks.

“He wasn’t at your wedding, but then you weren’t at his either! He had two beautiful boys and you will never see them, never meet them, because you don’t deserve to! You left him and he did just fine without you and _he’s happy!_ "'

The house is utterly still and quiet in the aftermath of her outburst. Her father is staring at her, wide eyed and utterly pale. She can’t look at him anymore, can’t do this, just…can’t.

She goes upstairs and closes her bedroom door behind her.

* * *

 

She goes back to school and changes her major to Mythology.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, there is was. A few things: I still have some scenes from this verse that will be posted as one-shots so if you like this verse, expect those! When I started writing this I thought I was going to split the narrative between Stiles and Rebecca and add a conflict with a rogue Alpha in Oakdale to get Rebecca bitten. I was going to do this because the prompt the first fic was based on had the idea that the way the Sheriff finds out about wolves and how he was wrong about Stiles was because his younger kid was bitten. So, I was going to fulfill that in the sequel, but as I was writing it I found that Rebecca wanted to have more scene-time and Stiles wanted less. Rebecca wanted to tell her story and as this fic developed it became apparent that I didn't need to add any additional conflict to this story, that the family drama was enough. So, this fic became Rebecca's story and I'm really proud of it, so i hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. 
> 
> Also, the ending of this was changed quiet a bit and I finally decided to just end it with a single line, because this isn't the end for Rebecca - her life is just beginning. She just gets to go forward with more maturity and understanding of the people around her and with the understanding that her parents aren't mythical creatures of goodness and light, that they have flaws and have made mistakes as well.


End file.
